Page 10 of Gabriel

“Right after the holiday,” I answered. “I want time to get some space and perspective. Then I’ll be back and help my family with their empires or whatever they want me to do.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed. “When you say backpacking, do you mean like real backpacking and no showers?”

I chuckled.

“Yeah, but I’ll occasionally treat myself to showers.” They all grimaced at the idea. I was raised differently than my roommates who were stereotypical girly girls. I wouldn’t trade them for the world, but it was hard not to notice the differences.

“I want to backpack through Europe,” I continued. “I want to see museums and eat gas station croissants in Paris and cry over overpriced espresso in Rome. I want to sleep in hostels and dance in dive bars and get lost in cities I don’t know how to pronounce. And I want to catch the most amazing views from mountains that surround picturesque little towns.”

Anya smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Man, if you’d drive to all those places, I’d go with you. My fingers are itching to snap thosephotos. But no matter, because Iwillconvince my parents to let me go to Albania and take the most amazing photos the world has ever seen.”

“Why Albania?” I asked, surprised at her choice.

She stared at me with a “duh” look. “Because the country is beautiful and wild, full of opportunities to take photos of things and places that nobody else has ever seen.”

“Okay, okay. I see your point.”

Skye shook her head, smiling, and even Penelope let out a soft, “You two are nuts.”

I leaned back against the cushions. “I know it sounds impulsive, but… if I’m going to inherit a legacy built on blood, I want to understand who I am without it first. Before I start making decisions that could get people killed. I want to know who I am when no one’s watching.”

Skye nodded slowly, then signed, “I’m sensing some Eat-Pray-Run through Europe in the very near future. You better send us photos while you’re going through this minor identity crisis. You too, Anya.”

“You’re insane,” Pen said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “But if that’s really what you want, you’ve got our full support.”

Skye signed with a smirk,“You’re both going to get scammed by some charming thief. I can feel it.”

“I’m okay with that,” Anya said without missing a beat.

I grinned, a lightness blooming in my chest. “I’m not. I’ll scam him first.”

With a laugh, Penelope tossed a pillow into the air and straight at Anya’s face, starting a pillow fight.

Amara

Eight Months Later

The air was alpine crisp, scented with pine, damp moss, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers. Slovenia in late summer felt like someone had photoshopped the entire country—too green, too blue, too impossibly serene to be real.

We had hiked for over two hours to get here, sweat slicking our backs, our boots caked with dirt and stubborn gravel. But the view? The view was worth everything.

From this ridge, the entire valley opened up beneath us. Lake Bled glowed sapphire under the late afternoon sun, with its fairy-tale island floating in the center like a secret. The little monastery on it sat in still perfection, while Bled Castle clung to a cliff edge nearby like it had been painted into the scene by someone with excellent taste and a flair for the dramatic.

This year has felt like a fairy tale—unreal, beautiful, and a little out of time. Just like this castle.

Elira, my adoptive sister, and I had been backpacking our way across Europe, and we’d loved every second of it. We started in Albania, where Grandfather Kian Cortes still lives, andwandered north from there—one train, one trail, one sunset at a time.

Some people our age blitz through thirty countries in thirty days. Not us. We weren’t checking boxes, but rather collecting moments. Month by month, place by place, we let the world unfold slowly, savoring each sight and experience.

When this trip concluded, I’d be back in New York, running back and forth to Las Vegas, because that was my parents’ legacy, and Elira would return to Boston where Mother Liana lived.

Elira took a long swig from her water bottle, then offered it to me. “If I die here, scatter my ashes over that lake and make it look like an accident.”

“You plan on dying soon?” I asked, breathless, half laughing.

“Only if we have to hike back down.”

She collapsed into the grass with a dramatic groan, yanking off her boots and socks like they’d personally offended her. Her toenails were painted a glossy, unapologetic purple—something that caught me off guard every time. Elira wasn’t exactly the girly type—until you looked at her feet. Then it was glitter, color, the whole chaotic spectrum. She wiggled her toes like she’d just conquered a mountain—and maybe, technically, she had.